A Moment Outside Autopsy
by laughinghyena2000
Summary: Gibbs and DiNozzo share a moment after the death of a teammate. Character Death. First NCIS Fic. Maybe should have written something happier... RR?


Disclaimer: Not mine. None of the characters are. Sadness abound.

A/N: It's been awhile since I've written. Bad me. And my return to writing is a deathfic. Worse me. This is what happens to my muse when I listen to Secrets by OneRepublic on loop for 5 hours. For some reason the first 10 seconds of the song, with the violins, makes me think of writing this. Hope you enjoy… well… like (?) this.

A Moment Outside Autopsy

By

laughinghyena

He could hear his own footsteps echoing down the hallway as he walked towards the autopsy room. He could feel the tension in his muscles, the uncontrollable tightening around his neck, moving past his ears, his forehead. Headache. He could feel his heart beating, out of sync. Too fast, not fast enough, too fast. He took a deep breath to still the beating, to calm down, to loosen up. Instead his footsteps echoed louder, heart beat faster. A headache that would not go away. He stopped himself in front of the closed door of the autopsy room, clenched his hands into fists, fingers digging into flesh.

Entering the room would mean accepting. Accepting another death. Out here, for a few more moments he could pretend. Then again, he could not really pretend, not when his ears still rang from the crack of the gunshot. At least out here, the pain of loss was something he had already experienced, the metallic smell of blood, the wail of sirens. The howl of pain. The autopsy room held the new, a new experience that smelt of disinfectant and formaldehyde. The autopsy room was silence and tears. Cold. He wasn't entirely certain he could deal.

He sensed a form behind him, to his right. He kept his eyes forward, focused on the closed door, knowing without a doubt the form behind him was DiNozzo. Through the hazy reflection on the steel doors he thought he saw the younger man slide is hands into his pockets. He knew DiNozzo constantly needed to do something with his hands. Hold a folder, imitate a peacock, draw a gun, drum a beat. It was when DiNozzo stayed still that he worried.

"Death, what a bummer," the voice behind him whispered. He knew there was no smile on DiNozzo's face, that if he turned to look, he would find furrowed brows and clenched jaws. Anyone else might have taken the younger man's comment as callous, as yet another example of his frat boy personality. He knew better. He knew DiNozzo dealt with stress by cracking a joke or cracking some skulls, and since their shooter, their murderer, had managed to outrun them in the ensuing chaos, the younger man was low on options.

"Guess no steak tonight eh?" the younger man continued. "I was really looking forward to some red meat. Ya know. Charred on the outside, juicy on the inside. Big bummer."

He blinked, allowed the corner of his mouth to curve upward, allowed his brow to loosen just a bit. A small reaction to DiNozzo's feigned nonchalance.

"No steak, DiNozzo," he replied quietly. He was not entirely sure when steaks and beers became their norm. He was not entirely sure when carefully orchestrated dinners between coworkers to relieve some of the pent up stress and frustration and anger from a bad case became just dinner. No one asked if the other was free, if it was okay to come over. He just knew when he needed to start the fire, the same way DiNozzo knew when to show up with a hungry stomach and their favorite brew. Steak tonight would have tasted good.

"We have work to do," he stated. He thought of the crime scene, not needing any help from photographs to remember where every marker was. He remembered it all. He thought of the evidence bags resting on the table in Abby's lab. Check the bullet, check for prints. He thought of the shirt he wore this morning, stained with blood, in the evidence bag resting on the table in Abby's lab.

"Guess that camping trip this weekend is off too huh? We got us a kill-ah to catch." He knew DiNozzo had pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows as he made the glib remark. The facial expression then replaced with a bright, teeth bearing smile, a smile that did not reach his eyes. He heard the younger man lightly tapping a beat on his thighs. Always had to use his hands.

"Funerals, what a bummer, DiNozzo?" He parroted DiNozzo's earlier statement as he shook his head slightly, smiled slightly. Best laid plans and all that.

"Yeah," came the quiet reply. The tapping stopped. He thought he caught DiNozzo smoothing down his hair in the reflection off the steel doors. He thought he saw the younger man slide his hands back in the pockets.

"It wasn't your fault Boss."

DiNozzo's quiet words interrupted his momentary trip back to the crime scene. The younger man always had an uncanny insight into his thoughts. Did DiNozzo know that he had caught a glint in the car mirror right before the gunshot? It could have just been a passing car, the reflection of his watch. It could have been the barrel of a gun. They had just exited the car, all four of them facing a different direction. All four bickering, laughing. A different direction, a different view. Could one of them have seen the shooter?

"Wasn't anybody's fault," his senior field agent continued, "We'll get him Boss. Then you can chew the guy out, make him piss in his pants. We'll bring popcorn."

And what comes after that, he wanted to ask. He thought of Shannon on their wedding day, dressed in a simple white gown, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her smile as she walked down the aisle. Kelly's first baby steps. Kelly's toothy grin as she said, " 'a 'a." Shannon had claimed those sounds as her own, but he believed otherwise. Kelly was a daddy's girl. He thought of their laughter and their smiles, of all the others he tried to replace them with. Always falling short. A smile was irreplaceable. He thought of Kate, of Jenny, of everyone before and in between. And after. Now what?

"Then you build a boat Boss," DiNozzo's words interrupted his thoughts again.

"Boat, bourbon, basement, DiNozzo?" he said, once again parroting the younger man's previous words. His coping mechanism almost seemed to have become an inside joke between them.

"Well, I'd say boat, bourbon, basement, _and_ pizza. But that kinda ruins the alliteration."

He considered the addition, which wasn't too bad an idea. He would order some pizza for the team tonight. There was no doubt that each of them would linger in the office past midnight and well into dawn. They would talk about the case, the suspect. They would talk about everything, but.

"You know what Boss? I think I've seen this in a movie."

He raised his eyebrows, tilted his head and allowed another small smile to crease his face. "What haven't you seen in a movie DiNozzo?"

He could sense the younger man thinking, arms crossed in concentration.

"Well honestly, not much. But I'm not going to tell you the ending to this one. I mean, it's really all about the ending. It worked so well for the director, well until it got old…"

He could feel the tension in his neck loosen slightly as he let himself ride the wave of normalcy carried forth by DiNozzo's movie monologue. For a moment, he pretended to forget.

"I'm going in DiNozzo," he said, palms pressed flat on the steel door. The other man stopped midsentence, watching as he pushed the heavy door open.

"On your six Boss."

Gibbs stepped into the autopsy room, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. He saw Ziva wrap her arms around Abby, as McGee and Palmer stood to the side, arms dangling limply by their sides. Lost. They were all lost. Even Ducky who was among the instruments he knew best.

Gibbs blinked once more, and turned back to look into the dim, empty hallway.

"You always are DiNozzo," he whispered.

Mmm… like? Yes? No? Something that would have worked better? Yes? No? Review? Yes!


End file.
